


The Hole in the Penitentiary Wall

by Turtle_Soup



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23208595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_Soup/pseuds/Turtle_Soup
Summary: 1865, Port Arthur, Tasmania. The penitentiary at Port Arthur is known for housing some of the British Empire's most hardened criminals. If Satya was smart, she would've left as soon as she realized she was standing outside the renowned prison's walls, perhaps written to the warden about the missing brick. But she didn't. Now, she's bringing books and fruit to an arsonist who hasn't spoken to anyone in four years. This is a rewrite of "The Burning Sheep" because fifteen year old me didn't have a clue. Some parts are the same, many are different, hopefully it doesn't contain as much garbage.
Relationships: Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Genji Shimada/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I hope you like this, it's a little different than its predecessor, but hopefully it's more historically accurate, less ridiculous, and more fun. Let me know if you're interested in a source page. I have citations ready to go (mostly for me) but if any of you are fellow lovers of 19th and 20th century history, let me know!

_There were nights when he dreamt of the day he’d gone to hell. What other name was there for the inferno cackling madly around him, mocking him as he sprinted breathlessly on a hopeless search for a way out? The walls crumbled in a downpour of ashes and smoke, making him sputter and cough. Had he been able to hear over the frantic pulse of his heart, he might have heard the ceiling groan before the sound of splintering wood pierced through him just before impossible weight hit him and he was falling. Someone was screaming. It took a minute for him to realize the hoarse wails were coming from his own throat. Pain, white hot as a cattle brand, shot up his spine so intense he couldn’t tell where it started and where it ended. He begged and pleaded for someone, anyone, to make it stop. As his vision grew warped and dark around the edges, he heard the faint sound of boots thudding against the floor and felt the sensation of fingers gingerly wrapping his own around a warm metal object. As the boots retreated, he welcomed the darkness with utmost alacrity._

\---

A year later, while receiving a proposal from a man she didn’t want to marry, Satya would remember the way the penitentiary towered over the port, its chimneys jutting upward like pikes out of the mist. It was one of the rare, rainless days they’d had on the passage from India to Port Arthur. The damp chill wasn’t perfect for reading, but it was inordinately preferable to squinting in the miserable, dank cabin she shared with her father. After months of ignoring the sickly green of his face and constant dashing back and forth to wretch over the ship’s side, she knew he’d appreciate the extra space. This in mind, she’d pulled on her coat and gloves and made the trek up to the bench at the ship’s hull with her worn copy of Wuthering Heights. After a good hour or so of reading, the blur of land that was the Tasmanian peninsula came into focus, giving Satya a fogged over view of Port Arthur and its acclaimed “Machine that ground rogues honest”. Aside from the penitentiary, Port Arthur was rather unremarkable. The prison stood about four stories high amidst a smattering of other buildings, some perhaps with farmland or livestock not visible from her seat on the ship. She wryly thought it was hardly a town, abandoned in comparison to the noise and bustle of Hyderabad.

“Miss Vaswani?” Satya turned at her name and spotted Jesse making his way towards her, a hand on his hat to keep the wind from blowing it off his head. Since the day he’d knocked on the door of the little house she and her father shared with another family back in Hyderabad, the only time she’d seen him take it off was to dump the rainwater out of its curved brim as he first entered the house, his hair, beard, and clothes plastered to his skin from the near constant downpour of the rainy season. At this point it wouldn’t surprise her if he slept in it. It was because of Jesse, or rather his employer, that Satya and her father were on this ship and deep down, a part of her resented him for it. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, the reek of tobacco causing Satya’s nose to involuntarily wrinkle. Perhaps the near constant smoking contributed to her overall dislike of the man.

“They’ll be wanting us off soon. You packed?” She nodded and turned her head away towards the distant prison, not wanting to taste more of the foul smoke by opening her mouth to speak. If Jesse took any offense at her lack of response, it didn’t show.

“Good. I’ll see you an’ your father to the house before I head off to Hobart. For obvious reasons, there ain’t many folks around here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find your way around, but the housekeeper’ll help you if you need.” His rambling attempt at small talk stopped as an ambient curl of fog obscured one of the penitentiary’s tall chimneys.

“Shouldn’t worry none about the prisoners. Port Arthur’s damn near inescapable.” Satya turned her head towards the American and realized her gaze towards the prison had been interpreted as worry.

“I was only thinking of how new houses couldn’t possibly be enough to draw in the people needed to fill them. Especially so near the penitentiary. Why send my father here?” Satya swallowed her grimace as Jesse inhaled another drag on that wretched cigar. Jesse shrugged.

“My employer’s confident that high quality, cheap housing’ll draw in the ex-convicts overcrowding New South Wales.” He rested a forearm on the rail and flicked ash overboard. “Whether it does or not, I can’t say. Not my problem and your father gets paid regardless. What’s it to you?”

“Well, nothing I suppose.” She tucked the book into the deep pocket of her coat. “Perhaps I was hoping for a place more similar to home.” Jesse laughed beside her, taking another long drag of his cigar.

“It’s a bit stranded, sure. But you’re not here too long. If it’s the city you’re missing, you can’t get more city than London. I reckon it’s just as crowded as where you come from.” She wanted to add that it wouldn’t be the same, that there would be no heavy spice smell when the streets were breezy, that her old neighbors wouldn’t be in the next house over, that she’d stick out like a stone in a sack of beans among the pale complexioned London ladies in their pale blue and lilac skirts. Everything had been thrown out of order the minute she set foot on this ship. She knew why her father wanted the opportunity London offered and she knew he wouldn’t have accepted such an offer had he not had a daughter to take care of. She couldn’t complain.

“Besides, I’m sure your time here’ll go by quick. I’ve met your tutor, she’ll keep you busy.” The drawl of Jesse’s accent brought her out of her thoughts.

“You’ve met the Madame?” Satya had heard very little of the woman who was to help her and her father acclimate to London middle class society. Only that she was French and had taught the children of her father’s mysterious employer.

“Amelie? Yeah, she taught my cousins. Tough as nails and damn good at what she does. My oldest cousin’s a nosey busybody, but to most she’s nothing but respectable. Funny how that works.” He muttered the last part under his breath and Satya got the feeling Jesse’s opinion of his cousin didn’t align with that of London society. She pondered the worth of asking him to elaborate but was saved further deliberation by the approach of a sailor.

“Mr. McCree? Your luggage has been taken to the docks. The captain suggests you and your companions get off before they start unloading the convicts.” That had been another unsettling prospect of this journey. While stopping over in New South Wales, the ship acquired thirteen new passengers destined for Port Arthur penitentiary. Though assured they wouldn’t even see the convicts, their presence had been a looming, unspoken shadow she couldn’t ignore these past two days. Jesse nodded.

“I’ll go see to Mr. Vaswani then.”

“No need, I’ve been fetched.” Akhil Vaswani strode towards them, looking remarkably less queasy as he adjusted the spectacles perched on his nose and fastened the mismatched top button of his waistcoat. Satya couldn’t help but feel as though a weight was removed from her shoulders. His arrival meant she wouldn’t have to talk to the sailors or continue to make small talk with Jesse. As he approached, he reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Shall we go then, Mr. McCree?”

\---

The house was, quite frankly, overwhelming. Two stories high, three bedrooms, a washroom, kitchen, cellar, parlor, and office space. In Hyderabad, Satya and her father had shared a smaller house with a family of four. When the housekeeper, a southeast Asian girl younger than herself by the name of Hana, appeared, both Satya and her father were shifting awkwardly at the opulence of it all. They’d cooked, cleaned, and done their own laundry for years. It felt lazy to ask someone else to do it.

From what Jesse explained, Hana and her family had come to Australia with the flood of east Asian immigrants that arrived after someone discovered gold in Tasmania. She would work in the house during their stay in Australia and travel with them to London after Akhil’s work was done. She was quiet and fidgeted so much Satya thought to offer her one of the braided bookmarks threaded with oddly shaped wooden beads her father had given to her after noticing the way she wrung her fingers and picked at her hands when the house got too loud or a vendor’s stand across the street collapsed, sending the foot traffic into a chaotic frenzy. The younger girl had eyed the bookmark curiously and thanked Satya before wrapping it around her wrist, looping the excess cord around the bead at the end. Not precisely the reaction Satya expected, but then again, she hadn’t explained the gift.

Jesse left after making sure their luggage was delivered safely with a promise to return later next week when the tutor was meant to arrive. After politely bidding him farewell, she went upstairs to unpack. Satya’s room, outfitted with a bed, a wardrobe, a washstand, and a desk, was similar in size to the one she’d shared with her father in Hyderabad. Just as she opened her trunk, a quiet knock at the open door made her look up. Hana stood in the entry way.

“Do you need any help?” She asked, worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. Satya shook her head.

“No, thank you, I think I can handle it,” she said. The shorter girl nodded and turned to go back down the stairs. “I wouldn’t mind the company though.” Satya felt almost as surprised by her words as Hana looked. Normally she preferred to be alone. She cherished the time she could spend in quiet to think, read, or draw. Perhaps being surrounded by water for a month had left her in want of company. Hana stepped into the room and hesitantly sat on the bed as Satya began lining her sketchbooks and the few leather-bound tomes she owned on the desk. _Wuthering Heights, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre,_ and _The Diwan e Chandra_ had all been birthday gifts from her father and she kept each in as pristine condition as possible.

“Thank you again, for the bracelet,” said Hana from behind her.

Not knowing how to correct her, Satya simply said “Don’t mention it. I have two and I wanted you to have one.” She slid her two extra sets of skirts and blouses into the wardrobe. “Are you fond of jewelry?” Hana’s nose wrinkled slightly.

“Not really, but this is nice,” she said, tapping the bookmark turned bracelet on her wrist. “It won’t break and it looks nice.” She tucked her hands back into her lap and started fidgeting once again, making Satya want to put both hands on her shoulders and make it stop. Sighing, she turned to face Hana.

“You’re new to being a housekeeper, yes?” Satya asked, wondering a little too late if that might’ve sounded too harsh. The wide-eyed stare she received from Hana told her it probably was. “Because it’s new to me too. Having a housekeeper, I mean.” Hana looked away.

“Is there something you’d like me to do?”

“Speak as plainly with me as you would your family.” That certainly got the other girl’s attention. Satya pulled a fresh cake of soap from her trunk and put it on the wash table. “It’ll be awkward if we live here together and can’t talk to one another. So,” she looked Hana in the eye. “tell me everything you feel comfortable sharing about yourself.”

From there it was like someone cut a hole in a bag of grain. Satya learned that Hana’s family lived on the coast before coming to Tasmania, that she enjoyed any sort of citrus fruit, and that she was a lover of chess and card games. Satya mentioned that she should play a round with her father. In the entirety of Satya’s life, she couldn’t recall a single instance in which Akhil had lost a game of chess. Perhaps Hana would break his streak.

Satya told her about Hyderabad, about her father’s architectural work, about her favorite tea and all she’d learned while shadowing her father as he drew, balanced equations, kept records and communicated with clients.

“Wait a minute,” said Hana, leaning forward. She’d since slipped off her shoes, now sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Satya. “You speak how many languages?”  
“Three. Telugu, Urdu, and English. I know a little Persian, but I’m not confident I’d be able to converse with a native speaker.”

“I don’t even know what Persian sounds like.” Hana flopped back on the bed. A low growl sounded in the pause. Satya couldn’t help but smile, realizing it was Hana’s stomach. Hana’s ears turned red and Satya looked towards the window. It had brightened considerably since this morning and the sun was now high overhead.

“I believe it’s about lunch time,” said Satya. Hana nodded slowly, sitting up and slipping her shoes on.

“You should go for a walk around the port. Get to know where everything is.” She stood, retying her chestnut hair into its tail. “By the time I get the stove working, lunch will be about an hour.”

“Then let me help,” Satya said, standing up. Hana waved her hand dismissively.

“Another time, you should get to know your way around the port in case you need something.”

And this was how Satya ended up hopelessly lost in quite possibly the least populated town on the entire Tasmanian peninsula.

\---

Honestly, how did one get lost in a town with little more than a few farmers, a butcher, and a grocer? This had been Satya’s line of thought for the past half hour since she’d lost sight of all civilization and decided following the coastline was the most prudent line of action. She’d evidently been wrong because she was still lost, but in all honesty, she knew she’d been distracted. The minute she’d laid eyes on the shore, she couldn’t resist the urge to get a closer look. One might think she was sick of the ocean after spending nearly a month with nothing to look at but the ocean, but the shore was different. It didn’t smell, her feet were firmly planted on solid ground, and she was alone. Not to mention, it was gorgeous. The water was a bottomless blue that reminded her of the oceans to which a poet would compare their blue-eyed muse and beyond the water she could see distant cliffs covered by trees.

It was this view that prevented her from noticing the wall until it was perhaps fifty meters away. Built of yellowed stone and perhaps three times her height, it was large but its enormity was not enough to obscure two smoking chimneys. Satya froze. She was definitely further from the house than she should’ve been, but she knew exactly where she was.

She should’ve turned back, but instead she inched towards the prison wall as though approaching a wild animal. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she looked stupid, but she wandered closer and closer until something caught her attention. To her right, at about eye level, a small rectangle of light shone through the wall where a brick was displaced. Had she been thinking, she would’ve left it alone and followed the coastline back to town, but caught in some sort of morbid curiosity, she walked over and peered through the gap.

And found a surprised pair of honey brown eyes looking back at her.


	2. Chapter 2

_The crest adorning the family tree had always reminded her of a strangled chicken. Despite the crown above its head and the Prussian seal stamped to its chest, the bird’s splayed legs and lolling tongue was a perfect imitation of the freshly slaughtered fowl brought in by the cooks. God, it was disgusting._

_“Glaring at it won’t make Wilhelm disappear.” Had the low rumble of the usually loud voice not been enough to identify the speaker, the enormous shadow dwarfing her own could only belong to one person._

_“He and Bismark are fools,” she said dryly, casting one last glare at the bird. “Deliberately antagonizing Austria over a few territories will only start a war. I won’t watch them throw away lives as a means to assert dominance.”_

_“I know you don’t approve of it, but there’s nothing more you can do to change their minds.”_

_“I know. I’m leaving.”_

_“What?” The hurt that crossed his blue eyes forced her gaze away. How a man his age in his position could remain so innocent had always baffled and angered her._

_“I told Elisabeth last week. I leave for England tomorrow.” Though she knew his answer, she added “You could come with me, you know. Bismark will dismiss you soon. It might be good for you.”_

_The man’s eyes followed the branch she’d been glaring at to the one below it. The space for the year of death was blank, but she knew a painter would be called before the year’s end to fill it._

_“You know why I can’t leave.”_

_She did. And no matter how much she wanted to argue that this family wasn’t worth his loyalty, she couldn’t fault him for wanting to be there in his friend’s final months. She turned and started down the hall, her footsteps echoing. “I wish you the best, Reinhardt.”_

\---

Perhaps if she hadn’t been so on edge, Satya would’ve calmly stepped away from the wall and followed the shoreline back to the house. She would hang up her coat, help Hana finish lunch, maybe even sit on the porch and draw after the meal was done. Unfortunately, she did none of this. Instead, she gasped and tripped backwards, landing hard on her back and tumbling a few feet down the slanted ground. Her wheeze as the breath vanished from her lungs was nothing compared to the crack and the loud yelp from the other side of the wall. There was a moment of quiet grumbling before the screeching of metal hinges drowned them out.

“Is there a problem, Fawkes?” Satya frowned. The words sounded slurred.

“No, no. No problem.” There was low grunt, as though someone were heaving themselves to their feet. “Jus’ my leg. Stepped on it wrong.”

“Alright. Fifteen more minutes.” There was a clicking sound before the hinges screeched and everything was quiet again. Sighing, she stood and brushed the grass off her coat, frowning at the bits of mud spotting its hem. To her dismay, the once sleek braid of dark hair resting against her spine was now disheveled, strands sticking out in every direction. She’d have to redo it before going back to the house if she wanted to avoid questions, if the mud on her coat didn’t already make that impossible.

Stepping out of direct sight from the gap in the brick, she pulled the cord from her hair and let the braid unravel.

“Oi.” It was the voice that hadn’t been slurred. She ignored the quiet call. No need to make this already disastrous walk worse.

“Oi. I’m talking to you.” Satya started wrapping the cord around the end of her new braid. Once she tied it off, she’d wait for him to think she’d left and go away. Then she’d go back to the house.

“I can see you, y’know.” Satya’s head whipped up to look towards the hole in the wall. From where she stood, she could see a single brown eye.

“Y’alright? I didn’t mean t’scare you.”

Satya blinked. Of all the things she would’ve expected a convict to say, that wouldn’t have been one of them. “I’m fine.” She remembered the comment he’d made about his leg. “Are you?”

“Eh. Leg’s splintered, but I can fix it.” She must’ve looked horrified because he was quick to amend the statement. “Peg, not m’actual leg. Lost that one years ago.”

Her concern, only slightly calmed by the new information, bled into caution that made her tense. What had he done to lose his leg? “That’s… better.”

“A bit of sandpaper an’ wood glue’ll fix it up. No biggie.”

Not being able to see anything other than his eye and a bit of shaggy blonde hair was making her uneasy. She gave him an awkward nod and pulled her coat more tightly around her. She needed to leave. “My father’s waiting on me for lunch. I should go back to town.”

The eye and bit of hair bobbed as the man nodded. “Don’ let me keep you.”

Satya turned and started to walk away, but she hadn’t gotten more than ten steps towards the shore when the man called to her again.

“Oi, y’dropped somethin’!”

Satya turned and saw her remaining beaded bookmark lying in the grass where she’d tripped. She must’ve left it in her pocket before going upstairs to unpack.

“Bracelet?” the man asked as she stooped to pick it up.

Satya frowned, thumbing over one of the beads. Why did everyone think it was a bracelet? “No, it’s a bookmark.”

The lone eye studied her warily. “You read?”

“Of course I read, why wouldn’t I?” she frowned, furrowing her brow. A shift in the man’s posture made her wonder if he’d shrugged.

“Dunno. Just wouldn’t’ve pegged you for a reader.”

Satya crossed her arms. “And I suppose you would be the authority on such matters?”

The man let out a harsh cackle. “Lady, if y’haven’t noticed, I live in prison. I’ve got nothin’ t’do but read an’ stare at the wall.”

Satya felt her curiosity pique. “You’re allowed to have books?”

“Sure,” he said. “We get library books. I’ve read all th’ good ones though.”

“Like?”

He hummed in thought. “Eh, Barsetshire Chronicles are alright. Frankenstein an’ Oliver Twist were good too. The library had a copy of th’ Thousand an’ One Nights, but last I heard some bloke knocked it into his chamber pot, so I never got t’finish it.”

Satya had read all but one of the works he listed. “Have you read any poetry?”

The bridge of his nose wrinkled. “Read some Browning a while back. I didn’t like it. Themes are too on th’nose.”

“On the nose?”

“Up in your face. Obvious.”

Satya’s eyes widened. “How can you think that? I admit his love poetry isn’t the best I’ve read, but he creates interesting parallels to our own world in many of his other works.”

He raised a brow. “ _The Pied Piper of Hamlin_? He flat out says the government’s useless.”

Satya shook her head. “That’s not the point of the poem. He’s trying to say one should think for his or her own self rather than taking another’s word at face value. Be the other party the government or another person, we should form our own opinions and not be blinded by outside influences.”

The man shrugged. “If y’say so. I’ll ‘ave another look at it. You read any Longfellow or Holmes? I liked those.”

“No, I’ll have to look for them.” Without thinking, she opened her mouth to ask him if he knew of Venkamamba, Anjana, or Volga, thinking she’d offer to lend him her copy of the collected poems before she remembered three things. Firstly, the anthology was in Telugu and he wouldn’t be able to read it. Secondly, it was a collection of poems by female poets and had a general theme of what it was like to be female. Thirdly, he was a criminal. He was probably just as likely to give the book back as he was to enjoy its contents. She shook her head slightly to clear it.

“Have you read Great Expectations? You said you liked Oliver Twist.”

The man shook his head. “Too new. The library has two of th’issues, but not the whole print.”

Satya hummed, thinking back to the book sitting on her desk. Again, some part of her, had he been any other person, wanted to loan him hers. But she wasn’t willing to risk parting with it. She only had one copy, but then…

“Are you here every day?”

The man’s brow furrowed. “Wha’?”

“Are you in this section of the prison every day?”

The man nodded slowly.

“If I copied the story from my book, would you read it?”

His eyes went wide. “You’d do that?”

Satya shrugged, ignoring the tug of self-consciousness gnawing at her stomach. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to discuss with another lover of literature.”

The man’s eyes lit up and Satya knew he was smiling. His head disappeared momentarily before reappearing as a scrawny hand snaked through the hole.

“Jamison Fawkes. Ought t’know my name if you’re gonna be around.”

Doing her best to ignore the dirt caked under his nails, she grasped his hand and shook it once.

“Satya Vaswani. Pleasure to meet you.” She didn’t know exactly what she was getting herself into, but surprisingly she found she didn’t mind. It was strange, probably dangerous, and most likely illegal, but for the first time since leaving Hyderabad, Satya didn’t feel so homesick. If this was the first step to moving on, no matter how weird it was, perhaps it was worth a try.

\---

Satya was hit with a chorus of laughter as she entered the house, hanging her coat on the rack by the door. There was a coat she didn’t recognize on the rack. Perhaps it was Hana’s?

“Satya, _Chinnari,_ ” Akhil called from the parlor. “We’re in here, come say hello.”

Satya’s brow furrowed as she strode into the parlor. Akhil and Hana sat on opposite sides of the table, a half-completed game of chess and two cups of tea between them. The reason for her father’s odd request sat beside Hana on the sofa, her own cup of tea and the teapot sitting on the side table. She was dressed neatly in a plain steel blue dress with a high collar and long sleeves, her honey colored hair pinned in a knot at the base of her head.

“Satya, this is Angela Ziegler, our new neighbor. She saw we’d taken the house and decided to call on us.”

“How kind of you. I hadn’t realized we had neighbors.” Satya said, accepting a teacup from Hana as she took a seat next to the woman.

The woman waved a hand dismissively. “I live about a quarter mile down the bay, across from the penitentiary. I work at the asylum next door, so it’s easier for me to commute from there.” She said, her voice tinted with a melodic accent Satya didn’t recognize.

“Asylum?” Satya asked incredulously. Was insanity an issue at the penitentiary? Had she just agreed to copy a book for a madman?

Angela chuckled at her disbelief. “The penitentiary operates on a system of isolation. Inmates aren’t allowed to speak or interact with one another and some don’t respond well to the lack of human interaction, especially if they’ve been there for years.” She took another sip from her cup, her lips pressed into a hard line. “I can’t say I like it, but I help where I can.”

Satya’s heart sank a bit for Jamison. No wonder he’d been so eager to talk to her. “Has anyone tried to change that? Surely if the penitentiary’s driving its inmates mad someone would protest.”

Angela nodded. “I have and so have others. They’ve been gradually lowering the number of prisoners they accept each year and the last of the inmates from the boy’s prison across the bay were brought over four years ago. It’s no longer in operation and eventually, the penitentiary will close as well.”

“The boy’s prison?”

“Point Puer,” said Angela, looking on as Hana and Akhil resumed their game of chess. Her tone was terse. “The graziers in New South Wales didn’t want the very young boys sent with the convicts from Britain, so a prison was built here to house them.”

“I thought Australia was reserved for felons.”

Angela shrugged. “I did too when I first arrived here, but many of those boys were no more dangerous than a pickpocket.”

Petty thievery? Was that all Jamison had done to end up in prison? Surely he had to have done something much worse. Satya opened her mouth to speak, but Akhil spoke first.

“How awful,” he said, glancing up from his chess game. “Were they very young?”

“When they moved them, I believe the oldest was sixteen. Many were there for upwards of four years though, so he was probably much younger when he arrived.”

“And they were moved four years ago?” He moved his knight out of the path of Hana’s queen. “Goodness, most of them would be around Sayta’s age by now.”

“Check,” said Hana, a smirk on her face. Both Satya and Akhil directed their attention to the chess board. Sure enough, Hana’s bishop sat across the board diagonally from Akhil’s king. Akhil adjusted his spectacles as he examined the board.

“You, my dear, are an extraordinarily infuriating opponent,” he said, though quiet amusement offset his words. Hana smiled.

“I do my best.”

“You said the worst most were convicted for was petty thievery?” Satya prompted, abandoning her teacup on the side table.

“Oh there were a few felons among them,” said Angela. “I’ve heard there was an incident where two boys killed their warden during the prison’s construction.” Angela grimaced, taking another sip of her tea. “Let’s talk about something else. Your father says you like poetry. Have you read any Goethe or Schiller?”

Satya shook her head. Though she wanted to know more about Jamison’s possible history, the foreign sounds of the poets’ names piqued her curiosity.

Angela smiled. “Then you should visit sometime. I’ve got some of their works at home. I’d be happy to translate a few. Unless you read German, then you’re welcome to borrow them.” She looked to where Hana sat, grinning victoriously as she watched Hassan puzzle over his remaining chess pieces. “Hana and your father are also welcome of course.”

The other girl’s head turned at the sound of her name, blinking in confusion. Angela waved dismissively and pointed to the board where Akhil was capturing her rook, turning Hana’s attention back to the game.

Satya didn’t think she’d ever heard German before. “Are you German?” she asked, taking in the woman’s features once more.

“Close, I’m Swiss,” she said. “Though I worked in the principality of Sigmaringen for several years.”

Satya retrieved her teacup and drained the rest of its contents. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with it. You’ll have to tell me about it when I visit.”

Angela smiled at the acceptance of her invitation. “My friend keeps an atlas in the parlor, I’ll be sure to point it out.”

Satya started to speak, but Angela started suddenly, smacking the arm of the sofa.

“I forgot, he has some books from his own country. There might be some poetry. If you have anything of your own, we could make an event of it.”

At some point Satya needed to tell her she had interests outside of poetry, but the prospect of possibly experiencing another new culture outweighed the urge to make sure Angela knew she wasn’t one dimensional. “That sounds wonderful. When would be a convenient time for you?”

Angela looked away for a moment, thinking. “Would noon on Wednesday work for you?”

Satya very nearly agreed but stopped herself. She was meeting Jamison again on Wednesday. He’d explained that he had access to the wall every day, at noon for exactly an hour and she’d asked for two days to copy the chapter, making the first available day to meet Wednesday.

“Would a later time work for you?” Satya felt more than saw Hana give her an odd look before she realized her mistake. She hadn’t even been in Australia for a day. She shouldn’t have any prior engagements. Angela gave her a curious look but nodded regardless.

“That’s fine. How about four o’clock?”

Satya nodded. “That’s perfect.”

“Checkmate.” The declaration of victory came from Hana. Turning towards the board, Satya confirmed that Hana’s pieces had indeed cornered Akhil’s king.

“You’re the first to say that in a very long time,” said Akhil, leaning back to observe the board. “Consider me impressed.” Hana gave a melodramatic bow before victoriously draining her teacup.

“I suppose I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” said Angela, setting her cup down and standing up.

“You’re welcome to stay for lunch,” said Akhil from his chair. “Hana’s made more than the three of us can reasonably eat.” Angela shook her head.

“Genji’s expecting me. Perhaps another time.” She straightened her skirts. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Who’s Genji?” asked Hana, standing and following Satya as she walked Angela to the door.

“My friend.” She paused, taking her coat from the rack. “Well, technically he’s my boarder. He rents my spare room.”

Satya opened the door and waved as Angela descended the porch stairs.

“Wednesday at four, don’t forget,” she called. “We’ll have tea!”

“We’ll see you then,” said Satya. “Have a nice afternoon.” Hana stood next to her as they watched Angela walk down the road towards the bay.

“So, what’s happening at noon on Wednesday?” She asked. Satya tensed a moment before shutting the door.

“Nothing to worry about.”

Hana’s brows drew together as Satya started towards the parlor. Then, with a gasp, she dashed into the hall entrance, blocking Satya’s path.

“Who’d you meet on your walk? I wondered was taking so long.” Satya tried to step around the shorter girl who was now grinning.

“Perhaps I’ll tell you later,” Satya said when Hana blocked her again. “May I get through now?” Hana moved, though her brow was raised and Satya hurried back to the parlor. Even if she wanted to, what would she tell Hana? That she was about to start secretly meeting a convict she wasn’t sure had committed a serious crime for the sake of having someone with whom she could talk about books? That sounded like the plot of a sub-par romance novel. Entering the parlor, she sighed. Maybe after Wednesday she could piece together some part of the truth to tell Hana. If not, she hated to think of what could happen should the curious housekeeper decide to find out on her own.


	3. Chapter 3

_It rained the night he saw home for the last time. The sack holding his clothes, money, and two books stolen from his brother had been hidden in his room for weeks now, waiting for the night to arrive where he would make his escape. Though he was wet and shivering, he was glad for the rain. When they discovered he was gone, it would keep his scent hidden from the dogs. Up ahead, he could hear the waves crashing against the shore and lapping at the silhouette of a massive ship. A flag seized and rippled halfway down its mast and in the moon’s faint light he could make out two dark stripes split by a band of white. A Dutch trade vessel. He quickened his pace, voices and the faint glow of lanterns bleeding into the dark as the dirt became rocky beneath his feet. A door on the ship opened, a lantern inside illuminating two figures._

_“Hallo?” He called, hoping his Dutch was understandable. He and his brother had been forced to learn for the sake of doing business with the traders, but he had never been the best student. “Alstublieft, ik moet met u praten.”_

_The figures looked at him, then conversed a moment before one broke off and climbed down to the docks. The man approaching him was tall and his hairless head glistened with rainwater. As he grew closer, his lantern highlighted deep crow’s feet curling from the corners of blue eyes that studied the soaking wet man before him._

_“If you have something to sell, you can come in the morning before we leave.” The trader said in perfect Japanese, making him sigh with relief._

_“I don’t want to trade,” he said, brushing the hair plastered to his forehead away so he could get a better look at the trader. “I want to go with your ship tomorrow. I can pay and I’ll get off at your next stop.”_

_The man raised a chiseled brow. “I’m not sure you’d last long at our next stop.”_

_“Doesn’t matter,” he said quickly. “Anywhere will do.”_

_The trader gave him a curious look but nodded after a moment. “You can sleep in the cargo hold. It’s not luxurious, but it’ll do for three weeks.” He started back towards the ship, leaving his new passenger to scramble after him._

_“Where will we be in three weeks?”_

_The man smiled. “Port Arthur, Australia. I hope your English is better than your Dutch.”_

\---

Jesse had been standing outside the Hobart house’s barn wondering how to go about what he was about to do for the past fifteen minutes. He’d received visits today from neighbors, the newspaper boy, and even the constable concerning strange noises coming from his barn. At first he’d tried explaining that no, nothing was being destroyed, yes, he knew who was in there, and no, no one was hurt, but after the constable’s visit, he figured he should tell his guest to take it down a notch before he was fined for public disturbance. Taking a deep breath, he slipped through the gap in the rolling door and took in the sight before him.

A short man with dark hair tied back in a loose knot was currently beating the shit out of a mat tied around a support beam.

“You’re hittin’ that thing like it owes you money.” The man gave no indication he’d heard Jesse.

“Maybe take a break? You want tea?”

“No.”

Well then. Someone was amiable today.

“Listen, Hilda ‘cross the street came over real worried someone’d gotten hurt. Maybe give her some peace of mind the rest of today?”

“I fail to see how consoling your fossil of a neighbor is my responsibility.”

“Hey now, she’s still kicking. That woman’ll be knittin’ this neighborhood hats ‘til she’s a hundred years old.”

“You mean until she falls down the stairs and fractures her skull,” the man said as he gave the beam an especially forceful kick, lips curling in distaste. Jesse almost laughed. Hilda had taken one look at his hair and the dark ink poking out at the neckline and sleeve of his shirt before telling him he needed a haircut and his parents needed a piece of her mind for letting their son walk around looking like a thug. Needless to say, he hadn’t been flattered.

“Hanzo, look, I’m gonna get fined if my house gets reported for suspicious noises again. Can we make a deal? You don’t scare my neighbors and I won’t—“

“We have a deal,” he said, pausing his assault on the beam to meet Jesse’s gaze. “You aren’t upholding your end.”

Jesse gave the Japanese man a long stare. “You weren’t guaranteed we’d find him. The kid ran off five years ago. You can get pretty far in five years.” Jesse would know about that. Part of him felt for this kid, but he was getting paid not to think too much about it.

“You haven’t been looking.”

“He ain’t in Hobart.”

“Then look elsewhere.”

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It’d be easy for him to hide just ‘bout anywhere. If he’s smart he’d find work in the mines where everyone looks the same. It’d be like lookin’ for a needle in a haystack.”

“Your employer said his contact last placed him at Port Arthur. Why aren’t we there?”

Jesse shook his head. “Port Arthur’s several miles from the nearest mine. Besides, no one stays in Port Arthur unless they’re working there or behind bars. It’s not a place that someone on the run would go.”

“Which is exactly what would make it attractive to my brother.”

“Let him come with us next week, Jesse. It won’t hurt anything.” The two men turned to where a woman dressed fashionably in a violet bell sleeved dress stood in the doorway. She was pale compared to the inky black of her hair and the dark hue of her clothes, making her angular features appear more severe than they were.

“Amelie,” said Jesse with a tip of his hat. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Hanzo looked irritated at the notion that his going could be anything but prudent. Amelie raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s a necessary trip and you’ve nothing else to keep you occupied. Why shouldn’t the two of you search the port to his heart’s content?”

Jesse inwardly groaned at the thought of spending more than an hour chaperoning Hanzo. The shorter man wasn’t used to the delicacy required in handling the folks in small towns. Even the smallest of offences could feed the rumor mill for months and Jesse wouldn’t put it past Hanzo to knock on the door of every house demanding to know if anyone had seen a young Japanese male with a tattoo. “We’ll have to lay down some rules. The boss won’t be happy if something happens and he loses money.”

“My family’s work isn’t dissimilar to your own,” said Hanzo, glowering. “Our methods of finding information don’t amount to losses, I fail to see the issue.”

“See, Jesse? You’ve nothing to fear,” Amelie said. Jesse could’ve sworn she was smirking. If she didn’t scare him so much, he might argue with her, but no sane man would argue with a woman who threw a heeled shoe at Maximillian’s head and survived.

“Anything happens, I’m telling him it’s your fault,” he grumbled. “What’d you come out here for?”

“Your housekeeper has informed me dinner is ready. I thought the two of you might want to eat before it gets cold.”

As the three ate their meal of mutton, bread, and potatoes, Jesse picked at his meal, wryly wondering if life would’ve been better in the states compared to this circus.

\---

Satya fidgeted nervously as she buttoned her coat, very aware of the pages sitting on the side table by the door. The determination or recklessness that had enabled her to agree to go back to the prison again had long ago been beaten back by logic and she couldn’t help but think any excitement or satisfaction she might derive from speaking to Jamison couldn’t possibly be worth the consequences should she be caught speaking to him. It wasn’t so much that she was worried about getting herself in trouble. The worst she might face was a stern lecture or a ban from the property, but she didn’t know what would happen to Jamison.

She didn’t know him very well. She didn’t know him at all really. But he seemed nice enough and she didn’t want to get him in any sort of trouble.

“You should leave soon or you’ll be late.” Satya blinked as she was startled from her thoughts. Hana stood in the hall, a basket over her arm.

“I was just about to go,” Satya replied, quickly fastening the last of her coat’s buttons. She nodded toward the basket. “Are you going somewhere?”

Hana shook her head. “No, these are for you. It’s polite to take a gift when you first visit someone.”

Satya smiled, fighting back a laugh. Even if Jamison were the type to care about a gift, there wasn’t much she could get through the hole in the wall. She pulled back the tea towel covering the basket’s contents.

“Pears?”

“They’re in season! The grocer gave me a really good deal and there’s no way we’ll eat them all before they go bad. Give them to your mysterious friend or whatever.” The shorter girl made a shooing motion with her hand as she shoved the basket into Satya’s arms and opened the door. “Off you go. Don’t be late.”

Satya nearly tripped out the door as Hana pushed her forward.

“Good bye! Have fun!”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the door clicked shut and she and her pears were left standing dazed on the porch. After a moment, she sighed, hooked her arm through the basket’s handle, and started off towards the bay.

\---

Though she found the penitentiary easily, it took a few minutes of wandering around the wall before she found the hole. Jamison was already there.

“Was startin’ to wonder if you’d been pullin’ m’ leg,” he said with a grin. Satya shook her head.

“My apologies. I had trouble finding this place again.”

“No worries. You’re ‘ere now.”

Satya pulled the pages covered in her neatly looping script from the basket and gently rolled them to a size that would fit through the gap. “As promised, the first and second chapters.”

He took the pages and unrolled them carefully, looking at the pages as though she’d handed him something precious and fragile. Satya couldn’t help but smile at his expression. What could someone like this possibly have done to end up in prison?

“Thanks,” he said softly. Satya was about to offer him a pear before he tucked the papers somewhere and began fishing for something she couldn’t see. “Almost forgot, got somethin’ for you too.”

Another roll of pages slid through the hole and Satya uncurled them curiously. His handwriting was somewhat clumsy, but the uniform curves and points of his Ms, Ns, and Ws made his lettering look efficient. She flipped through the first few pages and was surprised to find one covered in strips of blocky caricatures with captions beneath each frame.

“What is this?” she asked, holding up the page. He grinned.

“It’s a cartoon. Funny little thing I found las’ month. Never seen anything like it before.” His smile fell a bit at her apparently lackluster reaction. “S’not Dickens, but it’s good for a laugh when y’don’t feel like thinkin’. There’s other things too, jus’ a couple of things I’ve liked. You can pick one an’ I’ll copy it for you. S’only fair.”

Satya studied the little string of images. “This must have taken you a while recreate,” she said quietly, brushing a finger over a small depiction of a frumpy little man in a frockcoat. She hadn’t seen the originals, but the attention to detail in the little cartoon made her wish she’d brought him more than two chapters. “You’re a very skilled cartoonist. Thank you for this.”

The smile came back as he made a turning motion with his finger. “There’s two more in there. A novel an’ a school book.”

She raised a brow.

“Not tha’ I think y’need it,” he said quickly, his eyes going wide. “But it’s interestin’. Buildin’ things and such. Helped me out when I made m’leg. Also th’only other book I’ve got right now. We only get three at a time.”

Satya shook her head. “I don’t mind at all. My father’s an architect. He likes to talk to me about his work, so I have some understanding of mathematics and basic mechanics if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A loud clang turned both their attentions towards what lay beyond the wall. Satya’s heart jumped. Through the brick, she could just barely make out a door with iron bars at the end of a narrow walled in passage. Someone she couldn’t see mumbled quietly before there was a clicking sound and the noises ceased.

“What was that?” She asked, taking a deep breath to calm her erratic heartbeat.

“Th’guard,” Jamison said with a sigh. “He’s puttin’ in his minutes. I gotta go soon.”

Satya’s heart started pounding again. “There’s a guard? You didn’t think to tell me this?”

Jamison shook his head frantically. “No, we’re good, ‘es always plastered. He naps, then puts in his minutes so ‘e don’t get caught. Wouldn’t notice you if y’sat right in front of him.”

“Puts in his minutes?”

“The guards gotta turn this metal thing with pegs every now ‘n then. T’prove they’re not sleepin’ on the job. If th’minutes aren’t right when th’warden checks, they get in trouble.”

Satya felt her shoulders relax slightly and her grip loosen on the basket handle. “You’re sure he doesn’t notice?”

Jamison nodded.

“Will he notice if you take something back with you.”

“Th’papers? I jus’ tuck those in m’coat.”

“I wasn’t talking about the papers.” Jamison raised an eyebrow. Satya lifted the towel covering the basket and pulled a pear to where he could see it. “Would you like a pear?”

His eyes went wide as he took in the fruit. Satya glanced down at the basket of pears again and amended “Maybe several?”

“You’re serious?” he asked, surprise melting to excitement. She pushed the pear through the gap and he tucked it somewhere out of sight. “How many y’got?”

Satya continued to push pears through the wall until the basket was half empty and she was starting to wonder just how much pocket space he had.

“Think I got room for one more,” he said. She obliged, passing him another pear. He tucked it away, smiling. “Food here is shit, thanks. Didn’ think I’d be gettin’ dessert today.”

Satya smiled. “A friend bought too many and sent them with me today, but I’ll try to bring you more next time.”

“Next time,” he said quietly, as though marveling over the idea that there was a next time. She didn’t blame him. She was still getting used to her new companion’s existence too.

“Saturday?” she asked. He nodded.

“Saturday.”

The clang sounded again accompanied by the screech of hinges and Satya ducked to the side.

“Fawkes, time’s up. Come in.”

“Right on sir. Lovely day today.”

“Sure is. Your leg good? You’re walkin’ funny.”

“S’alright sir. Haven’t quite fixed th’joint from Monday, but I’ll get ‘er fixed.”

There was the sound of shuffling and the brief appearance of a third voice before all talking ceased. The hinges screeched, but the clang of the door shutting never came.

“What the—”

Satya froze as the sound of boots approached, stopping right by the wall. She pressed flatter against the brick and pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle her breathing, praying if he noticed the missing brick he wouldn’t see her.

“Th’hell did this come from?” Satya frowned at the slurred question. The man sighed as something soared over the wall, bouncing twice before landing in the grass.

“Damned birds.” The footsteps retreated followed by the screech and clang of the door. Only then did Satya move from the wall, pausing to look at what the man had thrown. A dust covered pear lay in the grass. She blinked at the fruit before a stifled laugh shook her shoulders. Apparently Jamison hadn’t had room for one more pear after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_The stone between her fingers glowed in the warped candle light of the kitchen with a faint amber hue she hadn’t noticed when her father first placed it in her palm._

_“Bà ba,” she’d said with a furrowed brow. “It’s a rock.” She’d been promised a gift for her eighth birthday and though she hadn’t expected much, she’d certainly expected more than a cracked, dusty pebble he’d found on the ground walking home from work. He’d chuckled at the poorly concealed pout on his daughter’s face before guiding her hand towards the candle so the light hit the jagged piece of brown and white stone. The warm dancing colors that resulted drew a gasp from her and she’d quickly pulled the stone away. When a closer inspection of the once again boring rock yielded nothing, she looked back to her father._

_“How does it do that?”_

_“It’s quartz,” he replied. “You can see through it, but not completely. Like looking through the windows when they fog over after it rains. But unlike the windows, quartz has colors, so the light has the same color as the quartz.”_

_Her eyes went wide. “There are more colors?”_

_“All sorts of colors,” he said with a grin. “Purple, green, red, even pink.”_

_“Do you get to see them all at work?”_

_“Sometimes. I see a lot of other rocks too.”_

_“What kind of rocks?”_

_“Most of them aren’t very interesting, but some are expensive like gold or silver or the colorful ones you put in jewelry.”_

_“Is this one expensive?”_

_“It’s a little too small. I don’t think you could sell it.”_

_Her face fell. If the rock had been worth a lot of money, he might’ve let her ride to town with him when he went to sell what he dug up at work. But if she couldn’t sell it there was no point in asking. Her father smiled as he put a hand on her shoulder._

_“Just because no one will pay for it doesn’t make it worthless,” he said. “You think it’s interesting, right?”_

_She nodded._

_“Then that’s all that matters.”_

_She looked back at the piece of quartz in her palm. “Will you bring me more rocks? The interesting ones that no one wants to buy?”_

_He ruffled her hair fondly. “I’ll bring you all the rocks you want.”_

\---

Satya arrived at the address Angela gave her before Hana and her father. She stood a moment, wondering if she’d gotten lost again. The little whitewashed house was only a short walk from the bay. Two steps led up to a covered porch shading two rocking chairs spanning the front of the house where two windows stood like sentinels on either side of the door. Above the porch’s cover, three windows spanned the house’s upstairs. But what made her second guess the accuracy of the address was the dark-haired man raking leaves over the vegetable patch beside the property’s small barn.

“Pardon me,” she called hesitantly. The man looked up, squinting at her against the sunlight. “Is this –”

“Oh!” the man interrupted, dropping his rake and jogging the short distance to the road. “You must be Satya, Angela said she was expecting you soon.” He stuck out his hand and smiled warmly. “Genji. I rent the downstairs room.”

Satya shook the offered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Angela mentioned you were renting a spare room.”

He gestured for her to follow him as he turned towards the front steps. As his back faced her, she caught sight of something dark creeping up the back of his neck. A tattoo?

“Mei’s already inside. You can probably still get a cup of tea if you want one.”

The unfamiliar name pulled her attention away from any further inspection of the markings as they ascended the stairs. “Mei?”

“Mei Ling Zhou? She teaches at the school house?”

Satya filed away any questions about the necessity of a school in such a small town and shook her head. “I haven’t met her yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along fine,” he said, opening the door. “She likes everyone.”

They entered the warmth of a short hall covered in off white floral wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of fresh bread and a warm spice she couldn’t immediately pinpoint. As she hung her coat on a rack between the doorframe and a small table, she recognized it as nutmeg. A tall grandfather clock stood by the frame of the hall’s exit. But what caught her eye were the two framed photographs on the wall. The first showed an enormous bearded man and a light-haired woman she barely recognized as Angela standing behind a sofa where a richly dressed older couple was seated, smiling. The second showed Angela and four others wearing a variety of hats with ridiculously large feathers. Angela and a younger girl whose hat’s wide brim cast a shadow over her eyes sat on either side of a chair in which an older woman with dark skin wearing her hat over a head scarf was seated. A teenage girl sharing the woman’s tanned skin knelt behind the younger girl and a middle-aged man whose feather was pinned to an otherwise fashionable top hat stood scowling to the opposite side of the chair. Angela and the woman were the only ones smiling.

“Genji? Is that you?” Satya recognized Angela’s voice a moment before the woman appeared at the end of the short hall space. Spotting Satya, her face lit up. “You’re early, wonderful. I just made tea.”

Satya blinked as Angela placed a hand on her back and steered her out of the hall, nearly pulling her off her feet, and into a small parlor with a window overlooking the bay. A short bespectacled woman with dark brown hair pinned in a knot at the crown of her head sat at a table circled by mismatched chairs. Spying the newcomers, she stood to greet them. As she walked, Satya noticed a small brown stone tied to a cord around her neck glinting against the pleated bodice of her dress. Interesting choice of jewelry. She’d probably appreciate Hana’s bookmark turned bracelet.

“You must be Satya,” she said, smiling shyly as she offered her hand. Satya shook it, hoping the smile she gave back was reassuring.

“You must be Mei. Genji was telling me about you.” Angela waved them towards the table and pulled an extra cup and saucer from the tray for Satya. Satya slid into the chair across from Mei as Angela filled the cup.

“I’ve been told you’re a teacher. Where is the schoolhouse? I wasn’t aware there were enough children here for a classroom.”

Mei brightened at the mention of her job. “It’s the white building half a mile down the road. My class has fourteen children, so it’s small, but I like that. It’s easier make sure all of them understand what they’re learning.”

Satya nodded as Angela took the seat between the two of them, setting two worn books on the table. Satya glanced at the spines and found she couldn’t read the titles.

“Is this the poet you told me about on Monday?” she asked. Angela nodded and pushed one of the volumes towards her. Mei leaned over the armrests on her chair and fished around in what Satya guessed to be a bag under the table as Angela continued to talk.

“This is an anthology of his poems and the poems of his friend. The other,” she placed a hand on the thinner of the two books, “is a copy of his most well know play. Have you ever heard of Faust?”

Satya replied that she had not as Mei sat up and placed a thin book with exposed binding on the table. What looked to be hand drawn characters, wildly different but just as unfamiliar as the titles on Angela’s books, scrawled neatly down the front. Angela followed Satya’s gaze to the little book.

“What’ve you brought?”

“These are a few poems by one of my mother’s favorite poets. She copied them from a friend’s book before my father moved us here.”

“Did she bind it herself?” Satya asked, eyeing the worn, but neat stitches holding the fragile looking volume together. Mei nodded, thumbing over the binding fondly. Angela turned to where Genji sat beside Mei.

“Don’t you have some books? I feel like I saw some when we moved you from the barn to the house.”

“He lived in the barn?” Satya asked, looking from Angela to Genji. Angela laughed, the sound melodic like her accent.

“I’d been in Tasmania only two months when a man knocks on my door and starts speaking to me in horrible Dutch. He didn’t speak English and someone who thought he was speaking German pointed him to my house. He was a stranger. I’d be an idiot to let him stay in the house without knowing him.”

“My Dutch wasn’t that bad,” Genji protested half-heartedly. Angela raised an eyebrow.

“I would wager that your German is better than your Dutch.”

“Yeah, but I’ve lived here for almost five years now. And in the first year we could only communicate in German and Dutch.”

“That must’ve been confusing,” said Mei, looking intrigued.

Angela nodded. “It was. Once it got to the point we could understand each other I made him sit down and learn conversational English.”

“She is the most impatient teacher,” Genji said wryly, taking a cup from the tea tray for himself. Angela sighed.

“That’s beside the point.” She held up the play she’d asked Satya about. “Do you have any books?”

“They’re notebooks, and technically they’re my brother’s. I don’t think you’d like them. I’ve only looked at one of them since coming to Australia.”

“What’s written in them?” Mei asked, taking a sip of her tea.

“One’s poetry. Some of it’s copied, some of it was written by my brother. The other is his Dutch notes.” Satya raised an eyebrow.

“You took your brother’s Dutch notes?”

Genji shrugged. “I knew I would be traveling with Dutchmen and his notes were better than mine. They helped me a lot once I got here and met Angela.”

“Did he know you took them?”

Genji said nothing, taking a sip of his tea when no one else spoke. Satya didn’t know whether or not to admonish him for taking something so important to his brother’s education or to laugh at how ridiculous it was. Angela shook her head.

“At least get the poetry.” Genji shrugged and exited through a door on the room’s other side. Clearing her throat, Angela turned to Satya.

“What did you bring?” Satya leaned down to dig under the remaining pears in her basket and the carefully folded stack of papers from Jamison to the slim anthology of poems beneath.

“This is a collection from a number of Telugu poets. This particular anthology has works from an unusual number of women, which is one of the reasons I find it so interesting.” Angela gently flipped through the book, looking at the script Satya knew was just as alien to her as the German was to Satya.

“Do you know what your Father’s bringing?”

Satya bit back a laugh. “He hasn’t told me what he’s planning to bring, but if I know him at all, there’s a reasonable chance he’s bringing the Aneid.”

Angela blinked. “He reads Latin?”

Satya nodded, taking a sip of her tea. “My grandfather worked as a language tutor for a wealthy family who let my father take lessons with their children. Aside from my grandfather, they had tutors for both French and Latin. He’s always liked epics, but the Aneid is his favorite.”

“I don’t know if I can get my hands on a copy,” Mei said. “But there’s a very famous Chinese epic he may like. My father used to tell it as a bedtime story. I’ll see what I can find.”

Satya nodded her thanks. “He would probably enjoy that.”

Mei opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Angela stood and hurried to answer it, almost barreling into Genji as he returned to the parlor.

“Come in, come in. We’re all in the parlor.” Angela returned, Hana in tow. The younger girl slid into the chair next to Satya as Angela pulled a teacup for her from the tray. Just as Satya was about to ask where her father was, Hana turned to the table’s occupants.

“Mr. Vaswani was called out by the miller to look at the mill stones and water wheel. The man’s paranoid that getting a new building will ruin his setup.” Spotting Mei, she extended an arm over the table.

“I don’t think we’ve met. Hana Song, I live with the Vaswanis.” Mei shook her hand, then gave her a curious look.

“Are you sure we haven’t met? I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.” Hana shook her head.

“I think I’d remember someone with your taste in jewelry. It’s not something you see everyday,” she said, gesturing to the leather cord around Mei’s neck. Mei looked down and smiled.

“I collect stones and minerals and I’ve always liked geology and earth sciences. That’s actually what most of my books at home are about.” Satya made a mental note to ask for more details at a time when it wouldn’t be rude to monopolize Mei’s attention. Her knowledge of the sciences might lean more towards engineering, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about other areas of study. Maybe Jamison would find it interesting too. She knew he liked to learn, but she still didn’t know which subjects he liked. She would have to ask on Saturday.

“Satya?” Satya blinked as Hana jostled her arm, realizing she hadn’t heard what was said next. Books were being passed around the table. Hana held up a book bound in blue fabric. She didn’t recognize it from before, so it must be the notebook Genji had stolen from his brother. “Angela suggested we just look through everything for a moment to look at the different languages. We can ask each other questions about how things are written or what something sounds like before it’s read and translated. I didn’t bring anything, so we’re sharing.”

Satya nodded as Hana flipped to the first page. The paper was covered in characters drawn precisely in swooping, elegant lines and sharp points.

“Your brother has neat handwriting,” Satya said as Hana flipped further into the notebook. Genji looked up from Mei’s little hand bound book.

“That’s why I wanted his Dutch notes,” he said with a grin. Satya looked back at the little book of poetry.

“Why did you want his poetry?” Something heavy fell over Genji’s gaze as he looked at the blue notebook.

“I’m not really sure.” He stared a moment longer. “I’ll never go back to Japan again, so I guess I wanted to take a piece of my old home with me. I haven’t opened it since I got here though, so I suppose I just robbed my brother of a flourishing career as a poet.” He smiled, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to Mei’s book.

“Satya, look at this.” Hana held the book up, pointing to a lovingly inked dragon curling around the edges of the page. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

Satya nodded stroking the corner of the page where the dragon’s head lay, whiskers arcing over the three vertical lines of verse. “It’s beautiful.”

Hana set the book flat on the table again, the disturbance making something slip from between the pages and flutter down to Satya’s feet. Frowning, she picked it up. The same neat writing from the notebook lined the paper. Turning it over, she was surprised to find a photograph of four dark haired figures. Seated in the center was a woman dressed in heavily ornamented clothing with her dark hair pinned in a decorative style. An older man with long hair tied back into a knot stood directly behind the woman, bordered on each side by a teenage boy, each with what looked like swords at their waists. The taller of the two had a stern face and long hair pulled into a loose tail. The other had short hair. Blinking, she realized it was a much younger Genji.

“Is this your family?” Hana asked from where she leaned over Satya’s shoulder. Genji’s brow furrowed as he reached for the photograph and studied it.

“I don’t know why this would be in there.” He turned it over and froze, mouth falling open. By now, the photograph had everyone’s attention.

“Is everything alright?” Angela asked, worry crossing her tone. Genji smiled and shook his head. “Everything’s perfect.”

He offered no more explanation as Angela changed the subject, suggesting they move on to discussing the actual works. Everyone read a segment in the original language before attempting a rough translation, often turning into something resembling charades when there was a word that didn’t exist in English. They puzzled over similarities between pieces and struggled to find cohesion in a seemingly random set of verses from Genji’s notebook before giving up and creating ridiculous explanations to give it meaning. Satya and Mei found similar ideas in many of their favorite poems and Satya thoroughly enjoyed hearing and attempting to mimic the different words and sounds of so many different languages. Especially when Hana broke into a coughing fit saying the hard Rs in the German phrase Angela gave her. Even after they decided to stop the poetry discussion, Genji stood on his chair and gave them a dramatic rendition of the prologue from Angela’s play, making Angela cringe at his abuse of her language and the rest of the room dissolve into hysterical laughter as he shook his fist and, supposedly, complained about the worthlessness of knowledge. After the clock struck seven, they agreed it was past time to leave. As Angela walked Mei, Hana, and Satya to the door, Mei turned to the photographs on the wall.

“I wish you’d tell us about these,” she mused. “I look at them every time I come here and I can’t come up with any explanation for how you know all of these people.” She pointed to the first photograph. “They look so important.”

Hana blinked at the photographs. “I didn’t notice them.” She squinted at the frames in the faint light spilling in from the parlor. “What ugly hats,” she muttered, her gaze falling on the second frame.

Angela chuckled, looking at the photo. “They were fun. I’m glad we kept them for the photograph.”

Hana raised an eyebrow. “Do you still have yours?”

Angela nodded, laughing. “Somewhere. I’ll have to find it. Maybe we can recreate the picture.” Hana made a face.

“We’ll let you do that then. Goodnight.” Satya and Mei bid the blonde goodnight and descended the steps, Mei waving to Hana and Satya as they parted ways at the road.

“So how was your visit?” Hana asked. “Did they like the pears?” Satya felt herself smile.

“He loved them.”

\---

Genji stared at the photograph on his side table. The writing stared back at him, taunting him. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised Hanzo knew about his plan to leave. How he knew he’d take the notebook still puzzled him, but that was beside the point. He picked it up and read his brother’s neat script for what felt like the thousandth time since the new neighbor found it.

_Come home, and all is forgiven. Come home, and you will be safe. Stay away, and I cannot control your fate. I will see you soon, little brother._

Soon? Five years was a long time to be considered soon. And even if they sent someone for him, there was no guarantee he would be found. A knock sounded on his door before the latch clicked and Angela appeared, her unbound hair brushing the sweater pulled over her dressing gown.

“Is everything alright? You looked troubled at tea.” she said, her eyebrows drawn. Spying the photograph in his hands. She pulled the chair by his washstand in front of him and took a seat. Taking one of his wrists, she hesitantly pushed his shirtsleeve up to his shoulder, revealing the intricate black and dark green ink covering his bicep and shoulder before disappearing under his shirt. She slowly traced the scaly tail snaking up his arm with cold finger tips, just as she’d done when he first showed it to her. He’d been nervous she’d make him leave back then. But she hadn’t pried, only assuring him everyone had done things they weren’t proud of when he’d told her his parents weren’t good people. She bit her lip, something he knew by now meant she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should. 

“You told me it was complicated, and I understand. You know I have my own share of secrets.” He knew. He knew enough about world politics from his education to know the picture in the hall showed her and an unknown man with the former German emperor and empress. He also knew most didn’t willingly leave royal employment.

“But if something’s wrong, I want to help. We’re a team, you know.” Genji smiled pulled her to his side, catching the faint scent of her elderflower soap.

“I know,” he said. She gently pulled the photograph from his fingers, turning it image side up. Her gaze flicked from his younger self to his brother.

“You speak of him fondly whenever you talk about him. What’s his name?”

“Hanzo.” The name felt strange on his tongue after so many years.

“I assume he wrote this?” she said, turning the picture over. “May I ask what it says?”

“It’s a warning,” he said. It was cryptic, but it couldn't be anything else. “But nothing’s come of it in five years. We’ll be fine.” She pressed closer into his side and turned the photo over again.

“Are the swords ornamental?” She asked suddenly. Genji laughed, ignoring her insistence of the question’s importance. If only she knew the same sword in that picture was tucked under the mattress beneath them. For security. They lived near a prison, he wasn't taking any chances.


	5. Chapter 5

_“I told your man he’d have the money by next week.”_

_“Sir, you’ve said the same for the past month. My client will wait no longer. You pay the debt in full now, or this visit is used to arrange an alternative form of payment.”_

_For half an hour, the sounds of her husband arguing with his strange visitor drifted from the study to her sitting room. It was probably rude she hadn’t yet offered them tea and sent a maid to boil the kettle, but if she was honest with herself, she wasn’t the least bit bothered if the man who’d enabled her husband’s reckless behavior these past six months left their house with a parched throat. She had letters to write and far more enjoyable things to do than play hostess to whatever broker or clerk her husband had vexed._

_“What do you mean ‘alternative form of payment?’”_

_“My client has composed a list of various services he will accept in lieu of money. Look it over as long as you like. I’ve no other calls scheduled today.”_

_The men fell silent in the next room over, giving her several moments of peace to write the next few lines of her letter._

_“What’s the meaning of this?” She jolted at the volume of her husband’s outburst, the sudden movement flecking the page with ink spots. She grit her teeth. She’d have to start over now._

_“These are the services my client will accept as payment of your debt.”_

_“Half of these are illegal!”_

_“The laws in my client’s country of residence differ from yours.”_

_“His laws condone human trafficking and prostitution? No man in his right mind would allow his home to be used in such a way.”_

_The revelation overshadowed the ruined stationery. What sort of client was this man representing? She stood, setting her pen down, and started towards the hall leading to the study._

_“I’m afraid I’m not intimate with the specifics of his laws, but I’ve read the list. There are options available to you..”_

_“Show me.” She knocked on the door to announce her arrival before stepping into the study. Across from her husband stood an older gentleman with sleek black hair, combed back to expose his sharp widows peak, and a well-groomed mustache and beard. Her husband’s dark curls were disheveled, as though he’d been running his hands through it. He held a piece of paper marred only by two precise creases._

_“Is everything alright, gentlemen?” She asked, not bothering to hide the discontent in her tone. The strange man ignored her, his attention focused on her increasingly distressed looking husband._

_“You can’t be serious.” The broker didn’t answer._

_“What could your client possibly gain from this?”_

_“It benefits an investment of his in England.” Her husband’s eyes widened._

_“England? This says nothing about England.” The broker remained silent, as though he dealt with these sorts of difficulties daily. Perhaps he did._

_“I assure you the family mentioned in the terms of this service is honorable. I spend a great deal of time at their estate and have never felt unwelcome.”_

_Her husband finally looked at her, then at the broker. “Your employer will accept no other in the terms of this service?”_

_“I’m afraid not.”_

_“And this family is kind?”_

_“I would say they are. Are we agreed, then?” Her husband looked at her again, his eyes weary._

_“Yes. Leave my home at once.”_

\---

Most would find a man in a Stetson, a woman in recent French fashion, and a Japanese man in a silk embroidered waistcoat out of place in a prison town. Especially when all three were crammed into a buggy meant for two passengers. McCree was used to being a spectacle, but did people really have to stare like that? The American stopped their little road trip for lunch at Port Arthur’s only inn. The serving girl, as every other pedestrian had, gaped at them as they entered, taking one look at Amelie’s structured skirts and the fine tailoring of Hanzo’s clothes before stuttering out a welcome and an offer to take their coats. Two minutes later they sat in a private room with three pints of ale in front of them. Correction, Hanzo had a pint of ale and McCree had two. Amelie had pushed hers towards him with a grimace the moment the serving girl left the room.

“We’re behind schedule,” Amelie said, nose wrinkling as McCree started on his second pint of ale. “Your letter to Mr. Vaswani indicated we’d arrive late this morning.”

“It’ll be fine,” said McCree, dismissing the complaint with a wave. “Travel’s not a science. People are late all the time.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I’d rather my student’s first impression of me not to be that I find punctuality trivial. It wouldn’t set a good example.”

“Miss Vaswani? You don’t need to worry ‘bout that.” McCree chuckled at the thought of the prim young woman from the boat arriving anywhere late. “She’s got better manners than Olivia.”

“I doubt that. It takes years to learn to behave in society.”

The serving girl reappeared with three plates of some sort of roasted meat slathered in gravy next to a mix of roasted root vegetables. Jesse shrugged, accepting a plate and tableware from the girl.

“Doubt she knows what color to wear in what season or how to waltz, but she’s respectful.”

Amelie smoothed her napkin across her lap. “I’ll meet her soon enough. I can make my own assessments from there.”

Jesse shrugged again, forking a bite of meat and potato into his mouth. As he chewed, he noticed Hanzo scowling at his plate across the table, his food barely touched.

“Something wrong?” he asked. Hanzo raised an eyebrow and poked at his meat with his fork.

“Why do westerners insist upon smothering everything in gravy?”

\---

“You mean… as in urine?”

“Yeah. Mix it in, wait a few months, add charcoal an’ sulfur, boom! Gunpowder. Read about it in a book ‘bout the history of the French Military.”

“How… interesting.” Satya blinked, unsure what to make of Jamison’s explanation of how to make gunpowder using… natural ingredients. “I wonder how they engineered such a process.”

Jamison laughed. “Don’t know. Bet it’d be good for a laugh though.”

“What does it do to the mixture? Wouldn’t the powder still function without it?” She bit into her pear, still unsure if she found the subject interesting or crass.

“No, it’d be missin’ a part.” Jamison’s eyebrows drew together in a way she now knew meant he was trying remember something. “Y’need three things for gunpowder. Sulfur, charcoal, an’ potassium… somethin’ or another. Don’t remember the name but it’s hard t’find. ‘S always mixed with other stuff. If y’ pee on the straw mix, let it sit, an’ filter it, y’get the part y’want.”

“I see. You can’t get it anywhere else?”

Jamison shrugged. “Sure. ‘S in the dark dirt with all th’little plant bits y’see in gardens. But it doesn’t separate well. Gotta boil it, strain it an’ make crystals.” He bit his lip, eyebrows furrowing again. “Least I think that’s how you’d get it. Read a university book ‘bout separating stuff from mixtures, but I didn’t finish it. Too much math.”

He took a bite of his own pear with a shrug, as though he hadn’t been attempting to explain chemistry. The more and more Satya talked to Jamison, the more she felt it was a shame he hadn’t been able to go to school and university. He was intelligent. Dirty, not well spoken, perhaps a little lacking in manners and social awareness, if the impromptu lecture on the uses of urine was any indication, but his heart was in the right place and he seemed genuinely interested in how the world worked.

“Maybe you’ll test it one day,” she said, pulling at the end of her braid.

“Right,” he said, tossing the core of his pear over the wall. “Like they’d let me near more than a lamp.”

Right. Prison. “Maybe when you get out then,” she said, trying not to sound embarrassed. “We could make a project of it.”

He smiled wryly. “You still gonna be here in twenty-two years?”

Satya’s jaw dropped. “Twenty-two?”

“Sentence was thirty. It’ll be a while ‘fore I do anything.”

Satya remembered Angela’s words from her first visit to the Vaswani’s house. She’d assumed Jamison had been nothing more dangerous than a pickpocket or petty thief, but pickpockets didn’t have thirty-year sentences.

“Do you mind if I ask what you were arrested for?” His eyes widened and she wished she hadn’t asked. Whatever he’d done had been eight years ago. He’d changed since then and she wasn’t entitled to his past.

“If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine,” she added quickly. He stared for a moment, honey colored eyes searching her face. She wondered what he was thinking.

“S’alright,” he said softly, looking away from her. “Surprised y’didn’t ask ‘fore now.”

His face disappeared from the gap, though she knew he hadn’t left. They occasionally sat on the ground to read, making comments to one another so they didn’t have to worry about dropping pages as they read. She sank to the ground and sat against the wall, waiting for him to speak.

“I don’ remember doing it.” His voice sounded strange without its usual enthusiasm and self-assurance. “My family had a mill an’ my father liked bringin’ me with ‘im to work. I gave bobbins to th’ ladies runnin’ the machines.”

Satya pictured a tiny Jamison handing wooden spools to an woman seated in front of a machine twice her height. She couldn’t help but smile. “I can’t imagine you sitting still that long.”

“Oi, I can sit plenty still if I want,” he protested. A shuffling sound came from his side of the wall. “Besides, they knew how t’have fun. One of ‘em had a big book of stories. Propped it up on a crate an’ read to everyone if th’looms weren’t blasting your ears t’bits.”

He went quiet for a moment. “There was a fire. All I know is one minute I’m talkin’ to the bobbin lady, the next I’m wakin’ up tied to a hospital bed missin’ an arm an’ a leg. Apparently they found me squashed under a loom with half a flintlock in m’hand an’ an empty can of kerosene.”

The breath in her lungs caught as a pit formed in her stomach. Then she turned towards the brick, as though she’d be able to see him through the wall. “They arrested a _child_ for that?”

“Evidence was pretty solid.”

“Children don’t commit arson!” At her outburst, he fell silent. She gritted her teeth. What imbecile had been in charge of his case?

“I’ve seen two children off an overseer with a rock.” His voice went soft again and Satya didn’t know how to answer.

“If a child can beat a bloke to death, what says I didn’ burn up a building?”

“Because you had no reason to,” Satya leaned back, letting her head rest on the brick. The top of the wall scarred the view of the late afternoon sky. If she could she’d climb over it so she could properly talk some sense into him. “If it was your father’s mill, why didn’t he drop the charges?”

“He did. Didn’t mean th’ government had to though. People died, they weren’t just gonna leave it.”

No wonder he sounded so defeated. “Jamison, you don’t remember what happened. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

“The government did.”

“I don’t.” He didn’t answer. She stood and faced the hole in the wall.

“Look at me.” He didn’t respond. There was no rustle of movement or flash of dark blond hair. She sighed.

“Jamie, please look at me.” A beat. Then the sound of shuffling as got to his feet and faced her. For a moment, she just held his gaze. Then, reaching through the gap, she cupped his face in her gloved hand, the warmth of his cheek seeping through the knitted garment to her palm. His eyes widened at the touch.

“You are not defined by what put you here. Whether or not you set that fire, you’re a different man now than the child you were then.” She smiled. “The past is prologue.”

“Tempest,” he said, blinking. Then, his own hand covered her gloved one, fingers curling around her palm. “Shakespeare.”

The smile from their previous discussion returned “Thanks.”

She pulled her hand back.“I still don’t believe you’re responsible for that fire. You shouldn’t be here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Where should I be?”

“You should be wherever your home in Britain is,” she said. “You could’ve had a far more fulfilling life than this.” She made a sweeping gesture to the penitentiary behind them.

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t be home. I don’ talk or act like a Brit no more. Don’ even remember what m’house looked like. ‘Sides,” A grin curled at his lips. “Only friend I’ve got’s right here.”

Something in her stomach flipped and she ducked her head, feeling heat flood her cheeks. “I’m happy to be here.”

A cough and grumble sounded from behind the wall before there was a shuffling of boots. Stepping backwards, she said “I’ll see you Saturday then?”

“Don’ know,” he said, his grin exposing pointed canines. “I’ll ‘ave to check m’schedule. ‘S hard business, tailor work, readin’ an’ starin’ at th’wall.”

She rolled her eyes. “Saturday. Don’t forget.”

Then, he was gone.

\---

There was a horse and buggy parked by the house when she arrived home. Frowning, she approached the animal, looking it up and down. It snorted at her. Her father hadn’t said anything about guests today. She was climbing the steps when it hit her. Not a guest, a governess. Madame Lacroix was arriving today. Cursing, she hurried into the house and began unbuttoning her coat, grimacing as she heard the voices of Jesse, her father, and a strange woman’s voice drift in from the parlor. Hana’s head poked into the hall. Before Satya could greet her or apologize for being so late, the shorter girl stepped behind her and helped her pull her coat off.

“Welcome back, Miss Vaswani. I hope you enjoyed your walk.”

Satya’s brow furrowed as she turned to look at her friend. “I did…thank you.”

Hana nodded towards the parlor and mimed gagging. Satya rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. Stepping into the parlor, her eyes immediately landed on the pale woman with dark hair on the sofa. She sat with impecable posture, holding a saucer and teacup in her lilac covered lap. The woman’s blue-black eyes snapped towards her. They flicked up and down her figure before settling back on her face, completing some sort of examination Satya wasn’t sure she passed.

“Oh, good. You’re back,” Akhil said, smiling. He set his teacup down and stood, taking Satya by the hand and guiding her further into the room.

“Madame, this is my daughter, Satya. Satya, this is Madame Amelie Lacroix.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Satya said, smiling politely as she held out her hand for the woman to shake.

She blinked, a moment passing before clasping Satya’s hand in her own and shaking it firmly. “The pleasure is mine.”

Satya opened her mouth to ask about her journey to Port Arthur when the Frenchwoman spoke again.

“I’d normally not comment upon this, but since we only have a year to work, consider this your first lesson.” She stood, her lilac skirts expanding into Satya’s space.

“When you’re introduced to someone, don’t offer them your hand. That greeting’s reserved for gentlemen.” From where she stood behind the sofa, Hana rolled her eyes.

“Instead,” said the Frenchwoman. “Curtsey.”

Satya blinked before slowly crossing a leg to the back and dipping into what she hoped met the Madame’s standards. Her efforts were met with a nod. “Much better.”

Silence fell over the room and, rather than accidentally catch someone’s eye, Satya looked just past the governess’s ear at Hana. The younger girl was glaring at the cluster of thickly looped braids pinned to the Frenchwoman’s head.

McCree, from his seat next to Madame Lacroix, cleared his throat as he stood. “Well, thank you for the tea, Mr. Vaswani. Really hit the spot. But I think I’ve stayed long enough if I want to get back to the inn before supper.”

Akhil nodded, smiling politely. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mr. McCree. I’ll see you out.” He turned to his daughter. “Satya, perhaps you and Hana could help Madame Lacroix unpack?”

Satya wasn’t sure she wanted to but nodded anyway. “Of course.”

Turning to the Madame, she found Hana already leading the woman upstairs. Satya hurried after them.

Similar to Satya’s room, the other bedroom contained a bed, a washstand, a dressing table, and a wardrobe. A carved trunk Satya assumed belonged to the governess sat at the end of the bed.

“Thank you, this will do nicely,” said Madame Lacroix, walking past the girls to the trunk. Opening it, she pulled out a stack of books and handed the top two to Satya. These are for you. For most lessons, you won’t need a book, but I prefer using one to teach French. The other is a gift to hopefully give you an extra incentive to learn French. Jesse told me you’re fond of books among other things.”

Satya looked at the title. _Le Fantôme de l’Opéra_. “Thank you,” she said, wondering what the strange words sounded like. Regardless, it would be a wonderful addition to Angela’s next luncheon. “I can’t wait until I’m able to read it.”

A pleased smiled crossed the governess’s face. “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” She continued to pull things from the trunk, sorting them into piles on the bed. “I’ve brought a few other things for you to try.” She looked Satya up and down. “While wardrobe is an easy fix we can make later, there are some things we should fix now.”

Digging through the trunk, she pulled a few items made of white cotton, a heavily stitched garment with laces, two skirts, and a wide ring of folded hoops. “Don’t bother with the crinoline or petticoats right now. They won’t fit your dress but try the others. I didn’t want to purchase something when I didn’t know your size, so most of it was mine when I was your age. Fetch Hana if you need help, she should know what to do with everything.” She pushed the somewhat alarming pile of clothing into Satya’s arms and ushered her towards the hall, Hana at her heels. She took a moment to process what had happened and glanced at Hana, who blinked, then snickered.

“Did she really just give you underwear?”

Satya’s eyes widened as she gaped at the suddenly much more overwhelming pile of clothes. “All of this is underwear?”

Hana’s only answer was a smirk. “Sure is. Please accept my deepest condolences. I’d have turned her away at the door had I known she planned to roast you like a potato with layers.”

Satya groaned. This would be smothering once summer came. Hana laughed and pushed her towards her room. They laid the pile out on the bed and with each new item, Satya wondered how it all fit under one dress. Before her was a white shift, what looked like an unfinished blouse and pair of trousers, the odd folding cage, and what she now recognized as a corset.

“I know what to do with the shift, what about the rest of it?” Hana pointed to the odd trousers.

“Those are drawers, you tie them over the shift.” She picked up the corset. “This goes on next, then you put the corset cover over it.” She placed the corset on top of the odd blouse. “I’ll step out. Put on the shift and drawers and get me when you get to the corset. If it doesn’t fit, you shouldn’t wear it. You won’t be able to breathe.”

As the door closed, Satya started undoing the buttons on her dress. She was already wearing a shift, so she didn’t bother exchanging it. It took her a moment to match the ties on the drawers, but eventually she secured those as well. Then, she reached behind her back and undid the ties that kept the two panels binding her chest in place before slipping her arms out of the loops that went over her arms. She didn’t actually know what the garment was called. She’d been eleven when her father had called her over to the trunk he kept her mother’s things in and pulled out the garment. After sheepishly showing her how to tie it, he’d handed it to her and said nothing more of it. Discarding it on the bed, she picked up the corset, separated the split busk, and turned it over. Which way did it go?

“Hana?” The door opened and Hana’s head popped in, her curtain of brown hair swishing behind her.

“You’re holding it upside down.” Satya flipped it quickly before wrapping it around her torso and fastening the busk.

“Woah, how old is this?” Satya looked up to find Hana holding the quilted garment she’d just removed. She shrugged.

“They belonged to my mother.”

Hana looked at her through one of the arm holes. “They look like short stays but they don’t have laces.”

Satya bit her lip and took the garment from the younger girl. “Speaking of laces, would you mind?”

“Fine, fine.” Hana stepped behind her and pulled at the laces before tying them off. “How does it feel?”

Honestly, it was weird. If her boots came unbuttoned, she didn’t think she’d be able to fix it, but otherwise, it wasn’t too bad. “I think it’s fine,” she said, twisting her torso.

“Great,” said Hana, shoving the thin sleeveless blouse at Satya. “Now the cover and you can pull your dress back on.”

Satya sighed as she fiddled with the cover’s tiny buttons. If lessons were as complicated as underwear, this was going to be a long year.

\---

His head rest against the wall. His leg hung off his cot. The lamp made shadows on the wall. It was absolutely silent. Just another night. Jamison curled his leg in, squirming so his knee wouldn’t hang off the edge. After twisting into various different shapes with little success and bashing both his knee and elbow into the loom taking up the other half if the cell, he gave up. Lose an arm and leg to a giant loom, doom the others to eternal bruising by a slightly less giant loom. How’d the giant bloke from chapel manage?

Groaning, he sat up and stretched out his leg. Something crinkled under his butt. Scrambling, he pulled his pillow out from under him and pulled the stack of papers from the rough, threadbare case. Leafing through it gently, he sighed. Nothing ripped. He looked at the page on top of the stack.

_On Saturday, please come prepared with your theories on when Miss Havisham washes her clothes. Yours are certain to be infinitely more entertaining than mine. Also, please explain something about your cartoon. Mr. Oldbuck has attempted suicide four times in the past three sections you’ve given me. Why isn’t he dead? No ill will towards the man, but he’s more melodramatic than Don Quixote._

_Yours, Satya_

Jamison brushed a thumb over her name, mentally running through the list he kept. Madeline, Warren, Rebecca, Lena, Satya, Hana, Angela, Genji. He’d never met the last three, but Satya talked about them a lot. Realistically, he knew he’d met more than five people in his life. But whoever they were, he didn’t remember them.

_“You shouldn’t be here. You should be home.”_

Home. He didn’t really have one anymore. Would his parents still take him in even if he could go back to Britain? No, Britain wasn’t home. This cell certainly wasn’t home.

_“You shouldn’t be here.”_

Did she want him to bust out or something? He snorted. Fat chance. Like he could outrun the guards. He certainly couldn’t swim the bay. He blinked. Would he actually escape if he could? Where would he go if he got free? Even if Satya was willing to hide him he wouldn’t let her. The piles of shit she’d land if she was caught hiding him wasn’t worth it.

_“You shouldn’t be here.”_

Would she still bother with him if he got out? The wall thudded softly as his head hit the plaster covered concrete. This was stupid. The lever by the wall that flagged his cell number caught his eye. This was stupid. He reached out and pulled it. A minute passed. Two. Three. The metal covering the eye hole the guards used for observation clicked.

“You need somethin’ one forty-seven?”

“Yeah,” he swallowed. “I wanna request a book.”

“Title and author?”

“Elementary treatise on chemistry, Antoine Lavoisier.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope it was worth your time, if you have the time, please let me know your thoughts and criticisms, I live for comments that help me become a better writer! Thanks again for reading, I hope all of you lovely people have an equally lovely day!


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